


Ain't No Grave

by Shackles



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Character Development, Explicit Language, F/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating to Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:36:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shackles/pseuds/Shackles
Summary: Being the leader of the 3rd Street Saints could be rough. Being an amnesiac alien in a world of humans certainly did not help. But these were memories Shackles wouldn't replace for anything in the world.[Rating and Tags are subject to change as/if more chapters are added.]





	Ain't No Grave

**Author's Note:**

> [Title inspired by the song "Ain't No Grave" by Hidden Citizens.]
> 
> So, right off the bat as my first posting on AO3, I'm just gonna say that I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing with this. At the moment, the plan is a kind-of retelling of the series through my Boss because I love her and think about her too much. And that includes rambling Pre-SR1 chapters like this!

“Clara? We, uh, gonna sit around like _this_ didn't just fucking happen?”

Clara looked up from the fire that burned in a rusted barrel at her feet, her green eyes meeting the bewildered expression of Allen. His ragged clothes matched her own, along with the rest of their fellow homeless that were squatting around the abandoned ferry dock. The fringes of the Saint's Row district were oddly but thankfully quiet.

Night had arrived an hour ago along with the dark clouds that heralded a possible early December snow. And it was only an hour ago that their entire evening was flipped onto its head with the arrival of a new guest. If you could call them that.

“I mean, I get it, I'm still trying to understand what the fuck is going on too! But seriously. _What the fuck_.” Allen's painfully gravely voice bordered on delirious as he threw out his arm to point at the cardboard shack a couple feet behind him. It rested against the brick wall of an old building that shielded them all from the gaze of the streets.

Sitting inside it, hauntingly still and haphazardly wrapped in a gray moth-eaten blanket, was their 'guest'.

They sat there, practically a statue. The rise and fall of their chest was one of the only signs to Clara that they were alive. She certainly wouldn't blame them, though, if they did suddenly keel over. It wasn't every day that someone fell out of the damn sky in a ball of fire and came out of it with barely a scratch.

A shield of damp, disheveled silver hair blocked their face, long enough to touch the grimy concrete ground. Even while sitting down, their head bowed, this person was simply enormous; they only just managed to fit in the makeshift cardboard hut. Sharpened nails, impossibly dark skin, muscles still intimidating despite the emaciation and lack of light.

All this, combined with the long black tail that curled around their body like a guard, made their guest anything but... ordinary.

“The hell are you expectin' me to do, Allen?” She finally replied.

The man sputtered indignantly. “I don't know, ask it questions?! Like what the hell it is, why its here? Something that isn't just... acting like things are okay now!” He, in the usual Allen fashion, continued his tirade. “ _Christ_ , look at it. Why's it sitting there like a fucking gargoyle?! And we're just letting it sit there!”

“Allen.” Clara snapped, rapping her old cane on the side of the barrel between them. “You don't think I'm scared outta my wits too? You don't think I want to play 20 questions? But look at 'em,” She jabbed the point of her cane in their direction. “Do they look like they wanna talk right now?” She threw him the glare she gave him at least twice every week, only this time with an added frown.

“But-!”

“Shut up, Allen.”

“What if it runs off when we ain't looking? Goes off killing folks all 'cause of you getting sappy?” He retorted as he often did with Clara, even if his argument was doomed to failure.

She kept her frustration with the old veteran reigned in, her voice firm. “They run off, won't be our problem then. And if they kill us while we sleep? Shit, at least I won't have to listen to your whinin' anymore.”

His reaction was predictable; incoherent stammering, angry grumbling, a stomp here and there with his good leg. Finally he stood up, stuffing his hands into his frayed flannel jackets. “Don't come crying when it wakes up and starts eating people!” Clara sighed at Allen as he made a point to keep an exaggerated distance between him and the stranger while he passed. How they all put up with that idiot for so long, she'd never know. Once the old grump was out of earshot, Clara's gaze returned to the new arrival.

Allen hadn't been entirely wrong though. The sight of them alone put everyone on edge, and all they've done was sit there. She probably should've felt the same way. She still didn't know what it was that had compelled her to help them in the first place.

\- - -

There had been an unnatural rumbling high in the clouds, flashes of orange and red behind the dark. Something engulfed in fire streaked across the city sky, hunks of shrapnel burning up into nothing behind it. All shrapnel except one; the blinding fiery mass that fell and crashed into the river between the two largest sections of the city with a roar of ice cold water consuming the flames. The old ferry docks rattled and flooded with the force of the waves from the crash landing, inches away from drenching Clara and the rest of the city's displaced denizens.

In minutes, the burning object in the sky had passed, soaring away from Stilwater and out into the ocean further beyond. For a tense moment, things were quiet again. The waves had calmed and the river was now unusually still.

Until a black arm, engulfed in steam, shot out of the water and shattered the dock's planks with a slam of the attached hand's vice grip. No one looked away while they watched this inhuman stranger burst from the dark river gasping and snarling for air, dragging their body up and onto the harbor. No one moved when they finally collapsed with a vicious groan, fog rising off of them in abundance.

No one but Clara. Hobbling across the unstable dock and to her old knees, Allen's panicked whispers aimed at her fading into the background, she had reached out to this strange creature. Everyone jumped when their head snapped up, wild blood-red eyes meeting Clara's past waterlogged strands of silver hair. And all at once, she just couldn't feel as frightened. Still completely scared as shit, with an alien creature staring into your soul like this one was, how could anyone not be? But not enough to keep her frozen. Not enough to stop her from gently scooping a large trembling clawed hand into her bony palm.

Even as respected as Clara was to the destitute that followed her experienced guidance, no one dared move anywhere but away from the harbor as the elderly woman quietly shepherded this stranger from the wooden docks to the concrete, throwing one of her many blankets across their back. The creature simply followed barely above a crouch, eyes locked onto her like an anchor. Scared whispers – _a tail, soot black skin, claws_ – ran rampant around her, but Clara paid them no mind. She didn't know why, didn't know how, but she _had_ to do this. Even while her conscience argued with the rest of her brain about what in the fuck she was doing.

It was when they had reached the old brickwork that the screech of police sirens echoed down the neighboring street. None of them were guilty with a crime, none that she knew of, but Clara was suddenly terrified all the same. It wasn't fear for her sake.

After barking orders at the two closest people to move a stack of old flattened cardboard boxes and ignoring Allen's confused scoffs, Clara had their large new arrival lie down and she moved surprisingly quickly to cover them. They just barely had enough cardboard. Before covering their head, she gave them a hopefully reassuring smile and put a finger to her lips. She figured they had no idea what that motion even meant, but it was worth a shot. The stranger just stared and followed; everything about them was seemingly on autopilot.

The others protested when she asked them to not say anything about their hidden guest, but as per usual, Clara was convincing. “Look, I get it, alright? _I get it_. I don't know what they are neither. They fell outta the damn sky, I can give you some fuckin' guesses!” She stamped down the adrenaline-induced crack in her voice. “But ya'll have trusted me this far, haven't you? And I need ya'll to trust me now.” She pleaded.

Something in her head told her that she just couldn't let the cops discover who or... what ever this was. However, the officers were already in the connecting alley before she could get their answer.

Officer Vinson was regularly seen around this part of the city – they all had tales about his car clipping them on the sidewalk or his daily misuse of pepper spray – but the other officer that followed him was new, younger. Clara pretended to rest her back against the cardboard hiding the newcomer while the others scattered and attempted to mill about. Like they hadn't just watched someone fall out of the sky and live. When Vinson's usual insults and questions started and no one immediately answered, Clara could finally swallow some of the tightness in her throat.

The police had arrived in part due to the 'meteor', sent by their superiors to check-up on the neighborhoods, and in part because of calls about a disturbance by their area of the waterfront. But it didn't take long for Vinson to grow bored, give his typical threats about loitering, and spin back around toward the street. No whack of a baton or spray of mace this time. _Thank God_ , Clara thought beneath her mask of calm. The other officer, being oddly polite, simply asked them to contact Stilwater PD if they had questions.

“Leave 'em, Bradshaw!” Vinson shouted from the parked police car. “You gonna skip celebrating the promotion you got and hang out with the rags instead?”

“You know how I got that promotion, man? By actually doing my damn job.”

“Just hurry it up, asshole, we still got more blocks to patrol. Shit, man, the squads checking on the east side of the Row are probably back at HQ by now.”

The wave of relief that hit their ragtag group once the coast was clear was palpable. And things became a bit of a blur to the old woman after that; It was all a bit more excitement than she'd planned for that day.

\- - -

Clara took another long minute of watching her guest. Then she slowly pushed herself to her feet with the help of her cane. She made the short distance to where they sat, using one of her many multicolored shawls as a cushion for her knees so she could kneel at their motionless side. At this angle, she could finally see their face past the curtain of silvery white.

Now that they weren't engulfed in water and steam, their strong but gaunt face was surprisingly humanoid, even as a long silvery-gray scar marked their undernourished features. Her eyes paused at their ears which poked out from behind their hair. It felt weird to think, but the long double-pronged cartilage frankly reminded Clara of... well, an _elf_ of all things. One of those high fantasy kind the kids today liked to read about. Odd, really.

Moving her gaze down and examining the strange metal restraints that covered most of their body, it seemed exceedingly obvious that all this could not have been human-made. She didn't recognize the strangely delicate design at any rate. Any lights that still functioned flickered and sections of metal were either warped or missing. The enormous weighted manacles clenched onto their wrists, ankles and even a portion of their long tail looked partially melted – more than likely from their fall. And they looked all the more dangerous with their added weight.

If falling from a burning fireball didn't warrant the damage, the pressure of falling from several thousand feet on top of that probably hadn't helped.

She eventually glanced at the arms that laid in the stranger's lap, lifting her own out of her ragged sleeve for sheer curiosity's sake. Clara knew there were people out there with skin darker and more brown than her own. But even in the dark, when she hovered a forearm beside their chained one in comparison, this new arrival was a deep slate black, no hint of brown or any other color. A color no human could naturally be.

'Alien' was the only suitable word she could find.

Drawing her arm back and looking up into those red eyes once again, the elderly woman nevertheless felt a pang of pity in her chest. Their face was expressionless and they gazed aimlessly into space. Clara had a long list of talents and careers under her belt before she'd been forgotten on the streets by society. Teacher, stripper, counselor, gang member. She'd seen a dozen similar looks on a dozen more faces in her years, more than she could ever remember. But nothing to this extent. Even as their expression was blank, that look said so much. And for the briefest of moments, their eyes finally rose to meet hers. And they were so _lost_.

Their mind churning a million miles a minute behind that poker face and no way to let it out, outside of going into a rampage. But they looked too lost even for that. For all Clara knew, they couldn't understand what she'd say or vice versa. Or they might have forgotten how to speak at all. Too much sensory input or mental trauma to talk? Maybe they just didn't _want_ to talk. She could only guess.

The stranger returned to their silent staring and after so much drama in such a short time, Clara suddenly felt drained. It was well past evening, she was sitting next to a living breathing alien, and all she wanted to do now was sleep. Forcing herself awake for a little bit longer, Clara opened her mouth to say something, anything to this creature, but she mused if it would even matter. It was doubtful that they would understand what her words meant.

But it was worth a try.

“So!” Clara exclaimed, clapping her hands together. The stranger's eyes shot back up at the noise. “We've all had one hell of a day. You more than most. Now I could sit here and try askin' you a million questions all night, God forbid Allen tries to at some point. But its late and, frankly, watchin' some poor thing like you plop out of the sky probably took a good year off my life. Don't you keep doing that shit either!" She shook at finger at their face. "I ain't got many of those left and I'd like to enjoy the rest!”

Their face betrayed nothing. A blink was her only reply.

Clara sighed but it was with a smile. At least they were _trying_ to listen... she hoped.

“That said, I think its time for some shut-eye. Now I know you probably aren't getting a damn thing this old lady's sayin', but you know what sleeping is at least? You know...” Setting down her cane, Clara placed her hands together and pressed them to the side of her face, imitating sleep. The motion was met with more empty stares until seconds later, their brow furrowed and their eyes shone with a spark of what Clara wanted to believe was recognition.

She retrieved her cane and gently patted her hand on one of the large manacles at their wrist, feeling the warped metal that couldn't have been comfortable. “Can you deal with wearin' all this just for the night? I promise we'll get you out of these big ol' shackles in the morning even if we gotta take fence-cutters to 'em.” Clara earnestly smiled, the wrinkles around her green eyes crinkling.

The stranger blinked again and looked down at her hand, or rather the manacle that it rested on. Once again, their face said nothing while they twisted their wrist just slightly. Almost like they had just noticed that the hunks of metal were there in the first place. Clara found it difficult to believe the restraints were so easily ignored, but perhaps this strange, displaced creature was more out of it than she first realized.

With one last pat, Clara pulled herself back up to her feet and marched – as much as an old woman could with a cane – down the length of the alley until she reached where the rest of her small community had gathered their meager belongings and bedrolls for the night. But she raised an eyebrow at the sight; there was plenty of room throughout the whole harbor alleyway for more people to spread out, but instead they were all crowded together. Granted it wasn't entirely unusual, especially on cold nights. But then she caught the looks. Not just from Allen, who glared at her, but from all of the homeless – they shot stares past her and toward the alien stranger who sat an entire building away, the hushed gossip of curiosity and fear rumbling among them.

It quickly made sense – the absurd distance, the huddling, the whispers, the worried expressions – and Clara didn't hide the daggers she glared directly at Allen.

She didn't have to ask if all this fear-mongering shit was his doing. You just _knew_ with Allen. The grizzled man said nothing and jerked his hand at her in a 'piss off' gesture, turning his back to her.

Clara had planned to just go back to the spot she had claimed for herself before the sky spat out their large guest on their watery doorstep. But if Clara could and had been many things in her long life, she could be a woman of sheer fucking _spite_.

Slamming the butt of her worn cane against the ground, she made a purposely overt show of rolling up her makeshift sleeping bag and sweeping up the sack that sat next to it over her free arm. The throng was suddenly quiet while they watched her, many of them turning their eyes to the ground if she caught them staring. Once her things were gathered, Clara threw one last sneer at Allen's back, clacked her cane on the concrete, and defiantly strode back up into the alley.

The chill of the night quickly sapped away the warmth of the burning barrels the group had surrounded themselves with from the older woman's tired bones, but she pressed forward without a glance. She'd faced worse cold on Stilwater's streets before.

The single rusted barrel on their side of the alley was only left with smoldering embers. She was a couple feet away when the creature's head suddenly turned to catch her gaze, crimson eyes peering from behind their shield of white hair. Clara would be lying if she said that hollow stare didn't unnerve her as she dropped her well-worn bedroll beside her guest's cardboard hovel. All they did was watch. The large bag hanging from her arm was plopped in the space between her pillow and the brick wall, it's beige leather faded and bereft of the sparkling rhinestones that had once decorated it so many years ago. Those, like so many things, only existed in her memory now.

Piling her sleeping bag with the hoard of threadbare, multicolored shawls she wore over her shoulders, Clara finally eased herself down onto her nest with a relieved sigh – if the crash-landing of an alien at her proverbial doorstep hadn't worn her out, the trek back and forth through the abandoned alleyway certainly had.

“Don't you mind those idiots any.” She huffed to the stranger, indignant anger still simmering in her throat. “I've led more than half of 'em from one ass end of this city to the other for years and I care about 'em, I do, but _Jesus_. They can be some gullible motherfuckers.”

The alien remained as still as a statue until their head eventually turned back to look out silently over the city. She would be more surprised if they actually spoke at this point. Clara laid back into her tattered covers, shuffling further underneath with a shiver as a chilled breeze blew through the waterfront.

She didn't hide her yawn, the churning of the clouds and the technicolor lights of the city reflected in the night sky already beginning to lull her tired mind away. Stilwater may have been a hellhole of a city drowning in gang violence, drugs, and natural disasters. But it was her city. Some part of her didn't mind falling asleep under it's sky every day. Despite the haze of sleep, Clara drowsily shifted to her side and watched the stoic silhouette of the stranger beside her, the lights of their metal confines flashing in the dark. “Wonder what this all means, y'know. Someone like you showin' up out of nowhere.”

Her guest, as she expected, didn't move an inch.

“I don't like puttin' much faith in fate. Or in God.” Clara paused to chuckle, a bitter noise in the silence between their one-sided conversation. “Lord knows, with the shit I've done, I'm damn sure not in His good graces anymore.” Another breeze rolled by and she wasn't terribly keen on thinking about it as a cruel reply. It was just the wind. “But something – _someone_ – like you doesn't drop out of the sky and nothin' changes. Oh, life might go on like normal for a bit, sure, but... not for long. Not with this feelin' I got in these old bones. Sounds stupid when I say it, but 's true.”

With the brisk wind trying to seep through the blankets and watching the drape of the alien's silver hair drift with the breeze, Clara slowly let her eyelids slip shut. “Ain't even asked your name yet either,” was her last sleepy mumble before the old woman was quiet and asleep in her nest of shawls.

It would be a full hour later that the stranger shifted their vacant stare down to their lap, the jingle of alien metal chains interrupting the quiet. Outside of the smallest shift of their hips and tail, they hadn't moved since the human beside them had fallen asleep. They hadn't felt the need to. Notwithstanding the fact that moving only exacerbated the thin mental threads that only just kept their jumbled mess of panic, fear, anger, and anxiety in check. They didn't want to know what would happen if those threads finally snapped.

But now something moved them to glance at the irons clamped to their wrists. The foreign design didn't make them curious as it had the others. It terrified them. The chains constricting their body, the concrete underneath them, the blanket over their shoulders, the lights of the city; all of it was so alien. They wanted to see something, anything familiar to ground them but what _was_ familiar? And when they tried to remember... there was just nothing. Nothing but panic, sterile metal that tore under their claws, flashing alarms, fire and pain. Trying to think beyond that was _blank_.

There was **nothing**.

The muscles in the creature's jaw tensed and their teeth clenched, dread gripping their throat as they unwittingly tried to remember again. It was several stressed minutes of heavy breathing before their shoulders relaxed and they let themselves give a sigh once the existential anxiety no longer threatened to send them mad. This vicious cycle was already doing a fine job of that. Having only a handful of new, raw memories made since two hours ago didn't leave someone with a lot else to think about. So it was easier not to think.

Their eyes refocused onto the shackles – as the human had called them. Only now had they noticed how heavy it all was, feeling as though they were still being dragged to the bottom of the river. But all at once, they realized the extent of the damage the manacles had taken even in the partial darkness; the metal warped and melted from the fire and their fall, scarred from something slicing into it like a knife. Yet still the shackles survived.

At least that was something to think about.

Insomnia would keep the alien awake for another long hour even while exhaustion tore at their every fiber and their eyelids grew heavy. They knew they probably wouldn't sleep for long or very well either way. An image of the old woman miming the action of 'sleep' popped into their head and their eyebrows lowered; they had no memory associated with sleeping, no memory of what falling asleep felt like. But even so, after a moment, they had just _known_. And the implication that they knew what something so basic _was_ without a single attached memory only added more confused fuel onto the dumpster fire that was, currently, their existence.

Tilting their head back until they hit the brick wall shielded by cardboard, the creature's chest slowly rose with a long inhale of cool December air. After minutes of staring at the stars hiding behind the clouds, they let their eyes close. Their brain still strained to think, to remember, to panic, and it would continue to try hours into the night while their body struggled against it to rest.

They were an alien; lost and abandoned with absolute amnesia - _of_ _all fucking things_  - leaving them void of memory, personality, and identity.

But they weren't dead.

They wondered if that had to count for something.

 


End file.
